Cruel and Unusual
by writerofberk
Summary: Stoick remembers something he'd forgotten, and Hiccup hates it. One-shot. Set two weeks after the first film. Fluff!


_**Cruel and Unusual**_

 **A/N: I've been meaning to write fluffy Hiccup/Stoick with a little bit of injured Hiccup for forever, and I finally worked this out. The thing that kept me from penning it was the fact that I also wanted it to be _canon_. This was also extremely hard for me to write, because I just can't imagine Stoick being this playful, you know? I mean, the war between Vikings and dragons has ended, so probably he feels way more relaxed than he has in all his time being chief, and his son has finally proved himself and the village is getting used to dragons, so he's probably ridiculously happy at this point in time. So. **

**Also, I have had this head canon for a long time that Hiccup is ticklish, like extremely ticklish, and the opportunity to work that into a canon one-shot presented itself. Also, I think this story makes much more sense than _Live Wire_ xD I can't tell if my dialogue sounds natural or not, though :P Please leave your thoughts in the reviews! **

* * *

These past two weeks had been full of firsts.

For instance, it was the first time that Stoick had ever found himself close enough to touch a dragon, and the first time he had done so. It was the first time he had laid aside sword and shield, the first time he had walked the village streets without a weapon at his side; the first time in a long time that he had seen a dragon in the skies surrounding Berk and failed to immediately respond to the looming danger – and it was the first time, in fact, in a very long time, that he felt that there _was_ no looming danger.

For as long as he could remember, his island had been at war with the dragons – seemingly vicious beasts that often raided the shores of Berk, searching for food. It was only very recently that the truth about the raids had come out: the dragons were prisoners within their own nest, serving the queen that controlled them, and attacking only under her orders. The queen, Stoick now knew, was the true monster in this equation.

But peace had been achieved, and now the two worlds had united, the Vikings defending the dragons and the dragons defending the Vikings, and they found within themselves a loyalty to the opposite species.

And now they were learning to live with each other.

Stoick knew his people were afraid of making mistakes and worried that maybe the dragons were still wild and untamable, scared that this arrangement would never work; he knew they were only just learning to live with each other, the dragons and the Vikings he led; but he knew now that this was possible, that they were learning even when they failed, and he could not have been happier.

There was just one, tiny thing and it bothered him only because it was not a first.

It hadn't been he who had ended the war. Oh, this part didn't bother him – no, Stoick was merely glad that the war was over at all, never mind who had stopped it…except…

When Stoick had first returned from his voyage, only to hear that Hiccup shone in every Dragon Training class…he had been ecstatic. Excited. So, so proud. Here at last was the son he had always wanted, the proper Viking boy who loved to fight dragons, who did it right. The kind of levelheaded child who sized up a situation before plunging in and endangering himself and the village. Stoick remembered thinking that, remembered thinking that Hiccup's penchant for causing trouble stemmed from his impulsive, accident-prone ways. How many times had the boy stumbled through that door, clutching some injured portion of his body and trying to slip past his dad before the man could see, before he could scold?

Watching his son this past week had given him a different opinion.

Hiccup wasn't accident-prone – well, he _was_ , but it was more than that. He was brave. He had faced the huge, terrifying beast, the nightmarish dragon queen, and he'd done it without flinching. He was reckless, having entered the battle without a plan; Stoick had practically heard his thoughts whirring even as he and Toothless ascended, the boy frantically trying to find an angle on the situation. The utter disregard for his own safety had scared Stoick; Thor knew the boy didn't look after himself enough as it was, and add a dragon queen to the problem and he was fairly certain Hiccup wouldn't make it out.

But he had, he had survived, and even though the man's heart still leapt into his throat whenever he allowed his thoughts to stray to the horrible battle, he knew he would never find it within himself to speak his fears aloud. He was a man of few words, and the ones he did say never quite came out right.

Stoick knew his son was still apt to get himself in sticky situations; Hiccup was accident-prone, and he was impulsive, but beyond that, he was brave, too, brave and reckless and stubborn as all hell.

And Stoick was so proud of him that it hurt.

The sudden slamming of the front door jerked Stoick out of his thoughts; with the noise came a blast of cold wind that made the fire sputter, and he turned to smile, a greeting already on his lips, but he fell silent as his son limped painfully into the house, Toothless on his heels, living proof of everything his father had just been thinking.

Stoick felt concern rise up within him when he noticed Hiccup had his left hand wrapped around his right, long fingers gingerly encasing the area; obviously trying to protect a possibly injured area from further harm. For Thor's sake, why couldn't the kid just look after himself? This was not an outrageous request when given to other fourteen-year-olds; even Vikings, in all their stubborn, reckless idiocy, knew when to draw the line, even those in their teen years. You would never see Hiccup's cousin stumbling home like this, Stoick thought irritably.

"Hi, Dad," Hiccup greeted, a little awkwardly, Stoick thought.

"Hiccup," he worked to control the bite in his voice; he didn't want to snap at Hiccup, especially not so soon after…after everything he'd said… "What did you do now?"

"N-nothing," the boy replied casually, and there was a smile on his face and his tone sounded completely sincere and all in all Stoick might have believed him if one hand had left the other. "Well, I mean, I helped this poor old woman out, she was having a ton of trouble trying to train this Monstrous Nightmare…but, but—

"No," he interrupted his son's monologue – Hiccup was given to rambling when he was nervous or scared – "I mean, what did you _do_?"

The boy fell silent, biting his lip.

"You hurt yourself again, didn't you?" Suspicion colored the man's voice when he asked the question.

Hiccup threw a longing glance at the stairs. "No."

 _Odin help me._

Stoick held out his hand. "Let me see."

Hiccup hesitantly, reluctantly extended his own; Stoick drew a sharp breath upon seeing the damage. He had seen worse than the scraped, bloody skin facing him now, but this didn't mean he was automatically immune to the sight of injury, particularly when a loved one was suffering.

"What happened?" The man demanded, taking the boy's tiny hand in his huge one, leading him toward the fire. Hiccup collapsed gratefully upon the wooden floor, drawing slightly nearer to the fire.

"I fell." And then, when his father raised an eyebrow, he cried indignantly, "I did! Toothless and I were hovering right above the beach – couldn't have been more than two feet – and we were trying this new trick, so I stood up in the saddle to start it and…well, I fell. Onto the beach."

"I see," Stoick said icily.

Hiccup fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

The boy glanced up quickly, wide-eyed; if Stoick didn't know any better, he would say his son was surprised by the question. Then Hiccup shook his head. "No, I don't think so. My side was kind of tender after it happened, but it feels better now."

Stoick sighed. "Let me see."

"Wh-what?"

The father knelt beside his child, reaching for the hem of the green tunic. "Here, let me see it."

Hiccup's hands suddenly shot down, protectively guarding the area. "Why?" he demanded suspiciously.

"Well, I need to see if it's bruised, or cut," Stoick replied, exasperated that he even had to _explain_. "Some of those rocks are pretty sharp."

"It's not cut," he countered defensively. "I'd have felt that."

The Viking chieftain pried the boy's fingers away from the spot, and tenderly lifted the tunic, expecting to see intense bruising, at the very least – but the skin was pale and smooth and unblemished, and Hiccup really did appear to be fine. Nonetheless, Stoick traced his fingers lightly over the area, searching for tender spots.

Hiccup drew back with a high-pitched yelp, small hands pushing against the larger ones of his father, and, oddly enough, there was a grin on his face before he schooled his features into a scowl. "Don't touch me."

Stoick watched the smile fade, slightly peeved. "What's so funny?" This scenario was a cause for worry, not mirth.

"Nothing," Hiccup replied quickly – so quickly, the Viking chieftain could tell it was a lie. "It's nothing." He scooted ever so slightly away from his father.

"And you're not hurt on your side?" Stoick pressed, reaching for the area again and unable to mask surprise when Hiccup shot to his feet, eyes studying him warily.

"No. It's fine. Don't touch it." He covered the spot with his fingers again, and something suddenly clicked in the man's brain.

 _Of course._ He should have realized it before…to be honest, he hadn't thought about it for ages…he had thought Hiccup had grown out of it, but as the boy before him took a nervous step away, he knew that this wasn't true.

And now Stoick was the one smiling – a little too widely, perhaps – as he grabbed his son's uninjured hand, pulling him back down onto the floor. Hiccup must have known what was coming, because he hastily tried to rise back up, but Stoick was too quick for him. He ran his fingers along the unguarded left side, and almost instantly, uncontrollable laughter was his reward, as Hiccup frantically tried to squirm out of reach of the hands tickling his ribcage.

Unable to get away, the boy fell backward, breathless protests tumbling from his lips. "D-dad, stop! Stop it!" he gasped between bursts of laughter.

But Stoick ignored the pleas, and continued to tickle the boy's side. He was laughing himself – not as wildly or hysterically as his son – and found that he was enjoying this quite a bit.

"Dad!" Hiccup was nearing a high-pitched whine, grasping frantically for the hands flying skillfully up and down his ribs. " _Dad, st-stop_!"

Stoick ignored him again, carrying on for another minute or more before finally pausing, leaving the red-faced boy a few minutes to catch his breath. Hiccup drew in deep gasps of air, hands going instantly to his sides, chest heaving as he panted.

When Stoick reached for his other side, the boy's eyes widened, and he laughed before the hand touched him. When he noticed his father's hand still hovering over his ribcage, he flushed, sending his freckled cheeks back into the rosy end of the color spectrum.

Stoick had never been good with words – he himself knew that, had, in fact, felt the inability to speak his mind very keenly before – but he recognized an opportunity when he saw one, and before the boy could rise, he said, "Consider that your punishment, by the way."

"Punishment?" Hiccup sputtered indignantly. "What did I do?"

In answer, Stoick's gray eyes fell to the scraped hand. "Be more careful." The words came out gruff and stilted.

Hiccup smiled.

"I think we have something to help with the stinging..."


End file.
